This Long Dark Tunnel
by ackeberlynn
Summary: One-shot tag/missing scene for 8x14, "Trial and Error." Some hurt/comfort, some reflection, and a smattering of angst.


**This Long Dark Tunnel**

**Author's Note:** It's been awhile since I've had the time to write, but 8x14 was begging for a tag, so here it be!

This hasn't been beta'd - all mistakes are mine.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters or anything associated with SPN. I write for entertainment only. The arrangement of words alone is mine.

**Warning**: Spoilers for 8x14

Enjoy! And please don't forget to drop me a comment, letting me know what you think. :)

* * *

Sam lay on the cold cement floor of the barn for several minutes, trying to catch his breath and come down off the adrenaline high. He was covered from shoulder to shin with the hellhound's thick, hot blood, and it was all he could do to control his gag reflex as he felt the substance seeping through his clothes, drying against his own skin. He was used to the smells of rotting bodies, of death and decay, of sickness and filth, and yet he quickly ranked the odor of the hellhound's blood at the top of his mental list of "most disgusting scents ever." It was some rancid mix of rotten eggs and sulfur, and it took Sam several minutes of breathing through his mouth to keep his dinner from reappearing.

Dean had yet to move from where he lay gasping on the floor just a few feet from him, and that realization brought Sam to his feet.

"How bad is it?" Sam asked, kneeling stiffly next to his brother.

Dean was lying half on his back and breathing harshly, his eyes scrunched tight as he tried to control his body's response to the pain he was in.

"God, you stink," he complained, sensing Sam's presence and opening his eyes to squint glaringly at his brother.

Sam's eyes traveled down to where Dean's bloody right hand cupped tightly around the wound, which was located mid-abdomen. His brow furrowed.

"Dean? How bad is it?"

His brother sighed, wincing. "It's fine. Not bad; just hurts like a bitch."

Dean rolled a little, and then flapped his left arm, motioning for Sam to help him up.

Sam planted his feet and kept his own arm firm, allowing Dean to use the limb as leverage to slowly pull himself to his feet. He felt his muscles contract at the weight and thought, _we're alive_.

_This is real._

He'd saved his brother from a hellhound.

He'd saved his brother.

From a hellhound.

"You okay?"

Sam blinked at his brother's question, realizing he'd been lost for a moment. Dean was hunched over, but gripping Sam's forearm and fixing him with a piercing look.

"I'm fine. It's just…."

"Just what?"

Sam swallowed, surprised to find a lump sitting at the base of his throat. He was trembling.

"It's just…last time you were attacked by a hellhound, we weren't so lucky."

Dean's eyes darkened for a split-second - a memory - and then it was gone. Buried again. He lifted his chin, reached out and clapped Sam twice on the upper arm.

"You did good, Sammy. Sure saved my ass."

The rough pat on his arm brought the world back into focus, and Sam cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Let's get you patched up."

The further they walked away from the carcass of the eviscerated hellhound, the lighter Sam felt.

He wished he could explain himself better to his brother – tell him how all these years, he was never really running away from the hunt or the family so much as he was running from impotence, from the inevitability of failure. After all, he could only watch his brother die bloody in front of him so many times before he realized the truth - that when it came to saving Dean, he was always doomed to fail.

Dean stumbled over his feet at the threshold of Ellie's room, and Sam instinctively reached out to steady him.

"Easy – sit down before you fall down."

"I'm fine," Dean grumbled, propping his backside up against the desk inside the doorway.

"What happened out there?" Ellie demanded, standing inside the goofer-dust circle with her fists clenched at her sides.

"We got the thing that was after you," Dean explained, his voice strained. "You're safe, for now."

Ellie stepped gingerly outside of the circle, staring at Sam. "What the hell is that?"

Sam grimaced. "Uh…it's uh, hellhound blood."

"Oh."

Dean's breath hitched, and he slumped back a little against the desk.

"Ellie, listen. My brother's hurt. Do you have any first aid supplies? Stitches, bandages…."

Ellie nodded.

"We keep some out in the barn, for the horses. They should work." She paused. "There's a towel and washbowl over in the corner, if you want to clean up."

"Thanks, Ellie."

After Ellie left, Sam peeled off his ruined jacket, letting it drop on the floor. He picked up the bowl and the towel and brought it over to the desk where Dean sat, then began vigorously scrubbing at the black blood caked on his neck and arms.

"So, you know what this means, right?" He began, testing the waters.

Dean lifted his head to stare at him for a moment, then bristled in denial.

"No, Sam."

Sam shot him an exasperated look.

"Dean – "

"I said no, damnit!" Dean growled, then grimaced, the harshly expelled words aggravating his injury.

Sam pursed his lips. Dean was hurt. They could argue about the trials later.

Luckily Ellie chose that moment to return with the first aid supplies, which she set on the desk next to Dean, then turned to Sam.

"I should probably do this; you're filthy."

"Yeah, and he stinks," Dean grumbled.

"I stink 'cause I saved your ass," Sam reminded him.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, whatever." But his words held no malice.

He stiffened as Ellie peeled back his jacket to examine the injury, Sam hovering over her shoulder.

Dean had four long gouges in his skin, muscle-deep and oozing blood.

"This looks bad. I don't have the skills to stitch this kind of wound."

"Just patch it up best you can and we'll take care of it later," Sam said reluctantly.

Ellie looked at Dean, questioning.

"It's gotta be done, sweetheart," he said, flashing his most charming smile.

Her lips quirked into a ghost of a grin, and she got to work.

* * *

Sam insisted on driving through the night to get as close to Lebanon as possible. The bunker, it seemed, had rather quickly become like home to them.

It was nice to have someplace to look forward to getting back to.

They stopped in Cheyenne, Wyoming for a night, just to catch their bearings and some sleep. Sam got a much needed shower, then stitched up Dean's side. He worried about infection, especially considering the twin blotches of rouge high on Dean's pale cheeks.

Dean slept for most of the trip due to pain meds; was still asleep when Sam parked the Impala in front of the bunker.

_Home sweet home. _

"Hey, Dean. We're here."

His brother grunted at that, half-awake, his hand automatically opening the passenger side door. Sam was already there, hovering.

It was slow going from the car to the bunker. Sam's back was screaming at the hunched position he had to adopt in order to sling Dean's arm across his shoulders. His brother was obviously stiff from the hours spent cramped in the passenger seat of the Impala, and by the time they made to the main foyer he was sweating and barely upright, Sam taking most of the weight.

"Just a few more steps to the couch, man," Sam encouraged breathlessly, knowing his brother was at the end of his endurance.

But when he tried to lead his brother to the couch, Dean balked, locking his knees.

"No couch," he slurred, panting from the exertion.

"Dean, what - ?"

"…mem'ry foam…."

"Oh. Right."

Dean wanted his bed.

Well, Sam wouldn't be the one to deny him that.

Dean's knees gave out in the doorway of the bedroom, nearly taking Sam down with him.

"Whoa – hey! Not yet, man. Almost there." Sam pushed up, feeling the strain in his thighs as he struggled to keep hold of his six-foot-two, limp-as-a-ragdoll brother.

"Sor'y…" Dean breathed, his head bent low, bobbing against his chest.

"It's okay," Sam was quick to reply as he gently manhandled his brother onto the bed. "You did great."

He made quick work of shucking off Dean's boots and re-checking his bandage before standing to leave, but was stopped by his brother's strong grip on his wrist. It seemed being horizontal again had revived him a bit.

"Hey."

Sam turned back toward the bed. "Hey. You need something?"

Dean just stared at him with glassy eyes, his grip tightening.

"D'djya mean it?"

Sam cocked his head and frowned. "Mean what?"

Dean swallowed, clearing his throat.

"That stuff y' said…back a' the ranch." He swallowed, waiting.

Sam felt a powerful emotion flutter in his chest, and it occurred to him that it must be true, that saying that 'love covers a multitude of sins'.

"Of course I meant it," he said softly. "All of it."

Dean held on a moment longer, searching Sam's eyes for the truth. Sam would've stood there for days if that's what it took for Dean to believe him. But whatever assurance his big brother needed, he seemed to have found it after just a few moments, for he let go of Sam's arm and sunk back onto the mattress with a weary sigh.

"Get some sleep, okay?" Sam said, turning to leave.

He almost missed his brother's playful words, spoken just as he was heading out the door.

"So I'mma genius, huh? Gonna rem'mber that one."

Sam paused and let out a chuckle before returning to the library.

He put on an old record, poured himself a brandy, and reflected on the twisted, bumpy path that had brought them here, to this place of danger and redemption.

He thought about what his brother had said just a couple nights ago, when he was so set on killing the hellhound alone.

"_I tell you what I do know, is that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. Because that's what I have waiting for me, and that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out…That is my perfect ending. And it's the only one I'm gonna get."_

He thought about how he would never forget the look of serenity in Dean's eyes when he admitted his "perfect ending" would be to die with a gun in his hand, knowing that Sam would live to a ripe old age.

He knew his brother, and he knew that wasn't depression. That, on the contrary, was his brother at his most hopeful. And Sam both loved and hated him for it in equal parts.

"But what about my perfect ending, Dean?" He quietly asked the shadows.

He knew now that while Dean was his rock, he was Dean's compass; and while Dean's job would always be to protect, Sam's job had always been to guide.

"_I see light at the end of this tunnel…And if you come with me, I can take you to it."_

Sam flexed his hand where the spell had worked its painful magic and wondered what the universe had in store for them next. He knew, whatever may happen, that he would do everything in his power to make sure Dean ended up climbing out the bright side of this tunnel with him when it was all over.

End.

**A/N**: Thoughts?


End file.
